Monthly Archives: November 2009

People say bad things come in threes. This, I might believe based on our week: a. I am sick b. Phoebe is sick and c. our car is sick.

She and I picked up a cold and while we’re both nearly over it, there is still “liquid” to contend with. Mine is a runny nose, Phoebe’s is a nasty cough. The toughest part is actually the cough that wakes her up at night, every one to two hours, which means I am up at night, every one to two hours. But we’re on the mend.

The Mercedes is a different story. And to make it short, we’ve got water in the electrical system. Three days of visits to the garage have resulted in this diagnosis. I think. But our issue, as always, is the language. Paul and I are getting better at Italian but we don’t really speak car Italian. It’s charming when the mechanic’s face lights up as Phoebe enters the garage but frustrating (for both of us) when he tries to explain the details of what’s gone wrong and what to do next. Armed with my cell phone and half a dozen friends willing to act as interpreter-on-call, we’re getting closer to a solution. Hopefully tomorrow we’ll take the car to the dealership and have it fixed…while we’re away in Belgium.

We were there to help a friend and co-worker with his annual fall harvest. Along with Eric and Alex, we went to David’s home in the country (actually very close to Lake Albano) on a drizzly Sunday morning. The project was spearheaded by David’s elderly Italian father-in-law and avoided by his two tween-aged sons. Wet weather only allowed for a partial picking but the Americans were all-too-happy to be involved.

Then came lunch. When he invited us, David mentioned “something casual”, maybe some pasta. But Paul and I have heard this before. Grateful that we’d brought rich and gooey brownies, as tasty an American treat as any, we were served countless courses of fresh bread, cheese, soup, pasta, polenta, sausages, grilled steak–each dish made even more delicious with their homemade olive oil poured on top–then dessert, three cakes plus brownies.

Several hours and a little wine later, we packed up and headed home, fueled by dreams of an olive harvest of our own someday. At our country villa. Why not?

At five and a half months, Phoebe’s dream has come true. She got to eat her first food. Sweet potatoes. We whipped out the special food processor/steamer combo — purchased on a trip to Parislast winter (anxious new parents?) — and lunch was served. Rave reviews.